


bar the door

by ckaster



Series: fantasy high outtakes [5]
Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Spoilers for Season 2 Episode 6, hypothetically speaking, murph said fabriz rights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21555850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ckaster/pseuds/ckaster
Summary: "Fabian’s perceptive powers aren’t exactly his strong suit—although what is his strong suit, really—but he still notices it when the end of the bed dips ever so slightly with the weight of someone small settling on it. Fabian flips over and stares at the ceiling. The skin under his eyepatch itches, and he resists the urge to rip it off and throw it across the room."'What do you want,' Fabian says, and when the words come out strangled, he grabs one of the pillows and smothers his face with it, fingers curling into the pillow cover. His father would call him a coward for hiding like this, for not owning up to his mistakes, but Fabian was already a coward, so. So it doesn’t matter."Or: my take on that "tiny bouncer" thing that totally got glossed over.
Relationships: Riz Gukgak/Fabian Aramais Seacaster
Series: fantasy high outtakes [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1549888
Comments: 11
Kudos: 276





	bar the door

**Author's Note:**

> two shoutouts to start us off! notwerewolf for the read through & avi for the contextless beta, you madman. 
> 
> hope y'all enjoy <3

The door opens and closes when Cathilda leaves, and then opens and closes again, each time letting in a fragment of the argument going on in the main room. Fabian is definitively not listening. Whatever plan is being concocted out there, it’s for the best if they leave him out of it entirely. 

Fabian’s perceptive powers aren’t exactly his strong suit—although what  _ is _ his strong suit, really—but he still notices it when the end of the bed dips ever so slightly with the weight of someone small settling on it. Fabian flips over and stares at the ceiling. The skin under his eyepatch itches, and he resists the urge to rip it off and throw it across the room. 

“What do you want,” Fabian says, and when the words come out strangled, he grabs one of the pillows and smothers his face with it, fingers curling into the pillow cover. His father would call him a coward for hiding like this, for not owning up to his mistakes, but Fabian was already a coward, so. So it doesn’t matter. 

It still feels like it matters. 

When the Ball doesn’t respond after several long, agonizing moments, Fabian takes one more shuddering breath and shifts the pillow down to his chest, gripping it tightly, and looks down at the end of the bed, where the Ball has his legs straight out in front of him, leaning against the footboard with the Sword of Shadows across his lap. It’s a little disconcerting, because Riz is watching him. Even in the dark, only the faintest moonlight slanting into the room, Fabian can read his face: blank but eyes focused completely on him, and after the absolute horror show that the encounter with Captain James had been, the pressure of feeling watched is a knife to an exposed nerve. 

Fabian wants to throw the pillow at him, wants to yell at him to get out, to  _ leave.  _

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t say any of the foul things that come rising to the tip of his tongue in the worst sort of defense, just lays there in awful silence, pillow held tight to his chest and breathing silent, shaky breaths, and endures the feeling of Riz’s eyes on him. In the silence he can hear the rest of the party settling down for bed, can hear Cathilda prodding Gilear onto the couch, can hear snatches of music and laughter drifting in through the slightly cracked window, because life aboard the  _ Leviathan  _ goes on, no matter what. No matter how bad Fabian fucked up. It should be comforting, but instead it settles uncomfortably in the pit of Fabian’s stomach like seasickness he’s never felt before, because more than a dozen people died at the hands of Captain James Whitclaw, and nobody out there knows about it, and even if they did they probably wouldn’t  _ care. _

“Do you want to talk about it?” Riz asks eventually, voice quiet. 

Fabian curls onto his side so he doesn’t have to crane his neck to look at Riz, not that he’s looking at Riz, because he’s—not. He’s not looking at Riz. Doesn’t think he could meet Riz’s eyes for longer than a second, see the knowledge there, the worst kind of understanding. They’ve all seen horrible, horrible things, Adaine beat the  _ lunch lady  _ to death with a fucking ladle on their  _ first day of school _ , but out of all of them Fabian thinks maybe Riz understands senseless violence the best, knows how tragedy sticks to the inside of your throat, brutal loss an itch that never goes away, and what Fabian saw,  _ what he did,  _ threatens to choke him. 

Still, the answer is easy, and Fabian manages to string together the barest threads of conviction as he says, “Absolutely not.” 

“Okay,” Riz says, and shifts, stretching out his legs so they settle over Fabian’s ankles. The motion is as deliberate as everything else Riz does, and the weight of his thin legs is strangely grounding; he’s wearing socks that have holes in the heels, a pair of pajama pants Kristen and Tracker had bought him for Christmas with little dogs on them, and under an Elmville PD t-shirt his shoulders are tensed like he’s prepared for a fight, sword half-gripped in his hands and arquebus propped up against the end of the bed within a free actionʼs reach. 

The bed is big enough that Riz could lay down, too; he’s small, and Fabian hurting too much to take up more space than absolutely necessary, but Fabian doesn’t offer, and Riz doesn’t ask. Riz doesn’t sleep much, Fabian remembers, just stays awake and obsesses, sleep barely a consideration. 

If this, this, whatever this is, is one of Riz’s obsessions, he’s better off spending his energy elsewhere. 

“You don’t have to,” Fabian says, forcing the words out. “To stay. It’s fine. I don’t need—whatever this is.” 

(That’s a lie. He does, he absolutely does, if anything tonight proved that he is powerless without his friends, that his friends are the only reason he gets anywhere at all in the first place. He needs his friends so badly that he gets people killed when they’re not around, almost dies himself. But a screw-up like him doesn’t deserve their energy or help anyways, so the point is—the point is moot.) 

Riz makes a little grumble in the back of his throat, a noise that’s all goblin, the same noise he makes when he’s dissatisfied about something. “We’re friends,” he says. “I’m staying.” 

“But—” 

There’s a bump to Fabian’s shin, and then another; Fabian looks down at Riz to see that he’s kicking Fabian’s legs repeatedly, the determined set to his face not erased by the dark. 

“What,” Fabian says. The kicking lets up; Rizʼs focus does not. 

“We  _ are  _ friends,” Riz says. Despite the words, Riz’s tone is oddly fragile, and Fabian lifts an eyebrow. “So there.” 

“That wasn’t what I was going to say,” Fabian mutters, and looks away before he has to watch Riz’s determination turn into vindication. His heart thumps oddly in his chest. Part of him wishes he could throw himself into the sea and let himself be borne away by the waves, subject himself to the uncaring brutality of the ocean and never have to deal with something as messy as feeling anything ever again, because this sucks. “I was just.” 

Fabian swallows and hears his throat click with it. 

He’s not looking, but he can still feel Riz’s eyes on him, unavoidable and inevitable. “No, I heard you the first time,” Riz says. “If I wanted to leave, I would. I’m not exactly, like, supergluing myself to the spot here, and you know as well as I do that if I want to do something I’m going to do it, so. I’m  _ staying,  _ Fabian.” 

Fabian turns his face back into his pillow, grunting something unintelligible even to himself. 

“I c—You’re important,” Riz insists, and Fabian’s not, he’s not, he’s a speck on the face of the world, incapable of living up to the most important promise he ever made his father. “To m—us. And I— _ we _ care about you. So.” 

Fabianʼs chest hurts. 

“Okay,” he says, voice a whisper that barely escapes the pillow. “Thanks, the Ball.” 

Riz hums. “Go to sleep, Fabian,” he says, and his voice has the faintest trace of a fond note to it. “I’m right here.” 

The thought is almost comforting. 

**Author's Note:**

> title from radical face's welcome home, son.
> 
> @ everyone who left comments on the previous two: i love you, you fuel me, you're amazing; & if anyone has suggestions of what other canon outtakes (anything really, not just fabriz) they'd like to see i will Consider Writing Some, because i am running low on ideas.
> 
> have a lovely day, everyone! :)


End file.
